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As the day unfolded, the Rico estate operated under a tension that no one dared address aloud. The staff moved with quiet efficiency, their heads down, while Armando’s men stalked through the halls like wolves on patrol. Security had been doubled overnight, and every entrance, exit, and blind spot was being combed for vulnerabilities.
In the office, Armando stood over a detailed map of the estate, his finger tracing the perimeter where the intruder had been caught. His men had already swept the area, but something still felt off. He trusted his instincts—they had kept him alive this long—and they told him this wasn’t over.
Antonio entered, his expression grim. “We traced the payment trail. The funds came from a shell company in the Caymans, but it’s owned by someone local. Santiago
